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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29012670">Break</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse'>IAmANonnieMouse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nash Fics for Flos [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Inception (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Butt Plugs, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, I dont even know how to explain this okay, It just happened, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Exchange</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:48:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,185</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29012670</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are the rules, Nash?”</p><p>“Don’t—” Nash licks his lips. “Don’t touch myself. Don’t come.”</p><p>“Exactly.” Arthur’s hand starts moving again, dragging Nash toward the edge. “Your body is ours. This cock”—he squeezes slightly, and Nash shudders—“is <i>ours,</i> not yours.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur/Eames (Inception), Arthur/Eames/Nash (Inception)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nash Fics for Flos [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Break</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/flosculatory/gifts">flosculatory</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I just :throws hands in the air: I was talking to flos last night about how I was in the mood to write something smutty, and we had brainstormed an idea for an Arthur/Eames/Nash fic, and then I went to bed and thought up a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT IDEA. So this morning, when I woke up, I started typing it up on my phone, and then one thing led to another, and just :throws hands up again: idk, guys. Oops my hand slipped?</p><p>Much love to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things">storm</a> for talking through various logistics and whatnot with me, and helping me put together the end/resolution to this &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nash wakes up panting, blindly trying to push back against the long fingers inside of him.</p><p>"Not so fast," Eames says, and calloused hands push Nash back down onto the bed. "Be patient."</p><p>The fingers inside of Nash crook just enough to make him choke on his next breath. “Thought we'd have a little fun today," Arthur says. "Don't move. And don't come."</p><p>Eames hums, then slides a thick finger in next to Arthur's. Nash trembles, a low groan building in the back of his throat.</p><p>"Good boy," Eames says. "You're staying so still for us."</p><p>Nash lets his head fall forward onto the pillow, tilted just enough to the side that he can breathe. He isn't tied, he isn't blindfolded, but fuck, he may as well be. He can't move, he can't see what they're doing to him, he can only feel it.</p><p>Then, the fingers are sliding out, and Nash whines, because he's been good, he's done everything they asked, and good boys get—</p><p>"Oh, fuck," he chokes out, blindly gripping the sheets under him.</p><p>Arthur says, "Thought you'd like that."</p><p>The plug is just long enough to be a tease, just wide enough to make him feel the stretch. Arthur settles it inside him with disappointing efficiency.</p><p>"Okay, up," Eames says, and a hand cracks across his ass, making the plug move inside him in the most interesting way.</p><p>Somehow, Nash manages to push himself upright. He's hard and leaking, but Arthur and Eames ignore it, ordering him to get dressed and meet them downstairs for breakfast.</p><p>It goes without saying that Nash isn't supposed to touch himself.</p><p>He makes it downstairs, and he eats his breakfast without squirming too noticeably.  Twenty minutes later, they're all pulling on their coats to head to the warehouse, and Arthur says, "Oh, I forgot to mention: we're having trouble with the car, so we'll have to take a bus today."</p><p>Nash's eyes narrow slightly, but he stays quiet. Forgot? Arthur never forgets a single fucking thing.</p><p>The walk to the bus stop is enough to leave Nash panting, then Arthur and Eames crowd Nash onto a seat between them, right where he belongs. Nash shifts, and his eyes cross. The damn plug's just long enough to glance against his prostate. He hopes they don’t hit a lot of potholes on the way.</p><p>Arthur puts an arm around his shoulders and leans in. "If you want us to stop, you know what to do. But otherwise, stay quiet, and stay still."</p><p>Then, the plug starts to vibrate. Eames rests a hand on Nash's thigh, higher than it probably should be, but not nearly as high as Nash wants it.</p><p>"Breathe, pet," Eames murmurs, and the vibrations stop long enough for him to catch his breath. "Can't have you passing out on us before we get there."</p><p>By the time they make it to the warehouse, Nash kind of wants to die, and he <i>definitely</i> wants to come.</p><p>Arthur takes his coat and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Be good. You know the rules." </p><p>Nash nods. No touching, no coming. The plug vibrates for a heart-stopping second, and Nash trembles. It's going to be a long fucking day.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Two hours in, Nash is ready to scream—and maybe get on his knees and beg in front of the entire fucking team. Fuck.<p>The plug has been turning on and off at random intervals, just enough to keep Nash desperate and on edge. Nash has no idea who is holding the remote, or if they've been swapping, but he can barely focus enough to care. </p><p>He just needs a minute to fucking breathe.</p><p>With the help of a strategically-placed jacket, Nash claims a lawn chair and hooks himself up to the PASIV. He feels Arthur's eyes on him and says, "Test run," the lie heavy on his tongue.</p><p>Arthur arches a brow, then goes back to his dossiers.</p><p>Nash hits the button before Arthur can stop him, and sighs as the somnacin floods his veins.</p><p>Then, he opens his eyes in the dream and realizes he's made a massive fucking mistake.</p><p>The entire dream is practically pulsing with arousal, desperation so thick Nash is nearly choking on it. He's standing in their bedroom back home, alone. And when he reaches into his pocket, the remote is there waiting for him.</p><p>It isn't breaking the rules if he doesn't directly touch himself. Right? </p><p>He clicks the button and wavers as the first vibrations pulse through him. "Fucking—" He stumbles toward the bed and falls onto it face-first. With some fragment of a conscience, he keeps his hips up so he can't rub against the mattress. </p><p>That lasts for the two seconds it takes for him to turn the vibrations to a higher setting.</p><p>He loses himself in the sensations, rocking down against the mattress and back against the plug. He's hurtling toward a climax, about to come in his pants like a fucking teenager, but he isn't letting himself think about that, he just wants—he just needs—</p><p>"Tsk, tsk, what a bad, bad boy," Eames says. His strong hands drag Nash's hips off the bed, and he swipes the remote before Nash can blink, turning it off abruptly.</p><p>Nash groans, letting his head hang. "Fuck, I—"</p><p>"Was breaking the rules?" Eames finishes. He leans over Nash, pinning his hands to the bed, and rubs himself against Nash's ass. "You know, we were going to let you come at lunch. We were going to pull you into that storeroom across the way and push you onto your knees. Arthur brought two extra ties, just for you."</p><p>He nips at Nash's ear just as the entire fucking dream starts to tremble, and Nash is flooded with—fuck, he doesn't even know, he can barely breathe.</p><p>"Hm, looks like Arthur turned the plug on up there," Eames says. “One minute up there is, what, twelve down here? You better make it.”</p><p>Nash moans, but he doesn't resist as Eames pulls his hips backward, rubbing his hard cock against the base of the plug until Nash's back arches. </p><p>"Do you want to come?" Eames asks, voice rough. "Hm? You've been hard for hours, pet. Hiding that aching cock behind your desk as if we don't know what we do to you. Trying to act like you aren't completely at our mercy." He reaches down and palms Nash's cock, squeezing until Nash is almost sobbing. "Answer me," he says, voice low and hard. "Do you want to come?"</p><p>"Yes," Nash gasps, shuddering. "Fuck, please, please, please—"</p><p>Eames hums and gives him one rough stroke that has him whining frantically, scrabbling at the sheets in desperation. He's so close, so <i>fucking</i> close, and he doesn't notice the cold kiss of the gun until he's awake in the warehouse, gasping for air.</p><p>Slim fingers deftly remove the needle under his skin, then wrap around his wrists in an iron grip. “Storeroom,” Arthur orders, eyes hard. <i>”Now.”</i></p><p>“Hey, we’re going for lunch,” the extractor calls. “We’ll be back in a bit.”</p><p>Arthur doesn’t even glance in her direction. “Sounds good, thanks, Sabine.” He tilts his head toward the storeroom and arches a brow.</p><p>Nash fumbles his way out of the chair and hurries across the warehouse, clutching his strategically-placed jacket in front of him to save what’s left of his pride. </p><p>He can feel the plug shifting inside him, can feel Arthur’s disappointment like a cloud.</p><p>He’s barely taken a step inside the room when Arthur slams him into the nearest wall, easily opening his pants and reaching in.</p><p>“So impatient, darling,” Eames says from somewhere behind them, and Nash hears the door shut.</p><p>“What was he doing down there, Eames?” Arthur asks, voice low.</p><p>Eames leans against the wall at Nash’s side. “It was bloody beautiful. Or it would’ve been, if we’d given him permission.”</p><p>Arthur growls and wraps his dry hand around Nash’s cock, jerking him off with almost brutal speed. </p><p>“Arthur,” Nash gasps, arching up onto his toes. “Please.”</p><p>“We walked through that door,” Arthur says. “I hung up your coat. I told you to be good. I reminded you of the rules.” He stops, and Nash whines. “What are the rules, Nash?”</p><p>“Don’t—” Nash licks his lips. “Don’t touch myself. Don’t come.”</p><p>“Exactly.” Arthur’s hand starts moving again, dragging Nash toward the edge. “Your body is ours. This cock”—he squeezes slightly, and Nash shudders—“is <i>ours,</i> not yours.” </p><p>Eames leans in, brushing against Nash’s side. “You’re so hard, pet. So fucking desperate. But you’ve broken the rules, Nash. What do you say?”</p><p>“Please,” Nash sobs. He’s so fucking close, he can’t— </p><p>“Come,” Arthur says dismissively, twisting his wrist.</p><p>Nash’s release hits him like a freight train, and he sags against the wall, gasping for air. He feels Eames’ calloused fingers brush against his ass before they pull out the plug, more gently than Nash feels he deserves. </p><p>Then, Eames pulls Nash upright, away from the wall, and waits.</p><p>There’s the quiet slither of silk, then the familiar sensation of fabric wrapping around Nash’s wrists. Arthur knows how to take his time with his knots, so it’s worse than a slap in the face when he finishes only seconds later. “Put him in the corner,” Arthur says, and Eames maneuvers him. Nash ends up propped in the corner, arms tied behind his back, pants hanging open. Arthur steps in, pulling the second tie out of his pocket, and wraps it around Nash’s cock, quick and dirty. </p><p>“This was going to be a reward,” he says as he stands. “But we can’t have that now, can we?”</p><p>Eames comes up behind Arthur, dragging one hand up Arthur’s chest to cup his throat, the other dipping into his pants.</p><p>Nash’s mouth is dry. “Please,” he breathes.</p><p>“You shouldn’t have broken the rules,” Eames says as he starts undoing Arthur’s shirt. </p><p>It’s the worst kind of torture, watching them together. Watching them slowly strip each other out of their clothes, watching Eames wet his fingers with the lube Arthur had packed for Nash. There’s a small table in the storeroom, and Arthur gracefully folds himself over it.</p><p>“I was going to do this to you,” Eames says, glancing at Nash. “Tease you until you were begging for more, slide into you just as you began to come. We were going to take turns with you, pet. Drag it out as long as you could bear it, then make you take a little more.”</p><p>Arthur is ignoring Nash completely, acting as if he and Eames are the only ones in the room. Soon, Eames pulls out his fingers and replaces them with his cock. Arthur lets out a soft grunt, then reaches back to pull Eames closer. Deeper. His eyes flutter shut, and his lips curl. “You’re so fucking good at this, Eames.”</p><p>“If you can speak full sentences,” Eames growls playfully, adjusting his grip on Arthur’s hips.</p><p>Nash sags against the wall, hands and cock bound, and watches them desperately. Hungrily. </p><p>After, when Arthur and Eames are sweaty and smiling, draped over each other in lazy familiarity, Nash lets out a shaky breath. “Please,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Eames hums. “You hear that, darling?” </p><p>Arthur smirks. “I did.” He untangles himself from Eames’ grasping hands and walks over to Nash, hooking a finger under his chin. </p><p>Nash is only able to meet his gaze for a second, then he drops his eyes, staring at the floor. The kiss surprises him, but Arthur swallows his gasp easily. He trails his hands around Nash’s waist, then pulls the tie free from Nash’s wrists. He pulls away just long enough to free Nash’s cock and refasten his pants, then he’s reeling Nash back in, wrapping him tightly in his arms.</p><p>Eames slips in from behind, caging Nash in between them both. Nash shudders and relaxes in their arms, letting his breaths even out. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he whispers, burying his head against Arthur’s shoulder.</p><p>“All is forgiven,” Eames says, kissing the back of his neck.</p><p>“But if you even think about disobeying me again,” Arthur adds, nipping at Nash’s throat, “you won’t be able to sit for a week.”</p><p>Nash feels a tiny shiver of anticipation, and smiles. “Yes, sir.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>They let Nash help them redress. In fact, they demand it. He finishes the final loop of Arthur’s tie with mostly-steady hands as Eames unlocks the door.<p>“Welcome back,” Sabine calls with a smirk. “Long lunch?”</p><p>Nash ducks his head and leans against Eames’ back.</p><p>“Oh, hush,” Eames says, waving a hand. “We’re all finished with our work for the day anyway, we just wanted to stick around so you felt like you were getting your money’s worth.”</p><p>Sabine arches her brows. “That’s certainly one way to put it.”</p><p>Arthur wraps a hand around Nash’ wrist and pulls him away from Eames. “Let’s do that test run,” he says. “I want to see your designs.”</p><p>“Yes, Arthur,” Nash whispers, and he follows Arthur across the room, with Eames close behind. Safely tucked between them, exactly where he belongs.</p>
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